“Absolutely not. They’re our kid, not a lab experiment!”

Tony’s voice echoed from the kitchen the moment you stepped through the door, dropping your bag with a thud.

“I’m not saying we microchip them, Tony!” Pepper’s voice was sharp. “I just want to know where they go when they disappear for four hours and don’t answer their phone!”

“Exactly—so we do microchip them. Perfect solution.”

“Tony—”

You cleared your throat.

Two heads turned immediately.

Pepper’s worry turned to relief, and Tony—still holding a half-scorched spatula—raised a brow.

“There’s our mysterious little fugitive,” he said. “Just in time to witness your parents’ spiral into overprotective madness.”

Pepper crossed the room in seconds, brushing your hair back to check your face. “You didn’t text back. We were worried. Are you okay?”

You nodded… then hesitated. And that pause was all they needed.

Tony dropped the spatula.

Pepper wrapped an arm around you instantly.

“You don’t look okay,” Tony said, softer now, no snark in sight. “Wanna talk about it?”

You shrugged.

Tony knelt a little to meet your eyes. “You know you’re allowed to not be okay, right? That’s like… 90% of being a Stark.”

“Tony.”

“Alright, 80%. The rest is sarcasm and trauma coping.”

Pepper rolled her eyes but kissed your forehead. “We’re here, sweetheart. No matter what.”

Tony threw a dishtowel over his shoulder and grinned. “And I made spaghetti. Burned it a little, but I think the charcoal adds character.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out.

And in that messy, ridiculous kitchen—wrapped between sarcasm and safety—you remembered what it meant to be home.